


Official Rescue Tally

by daisiesinajar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Mockingbird (Comic)
Genre: Dom!Bobbi, F/M, Mockingbird comics, Slight Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 19:12:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8069353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daisiesinajar/pseuds/daisiesinajar
Summary: Bobbi rescues Lance from a sex dungeon (cough Hellfire Club cough), after which they do the thing.Plot for Chapter 1 is a modified and extended prose form of Cain's Mockingbird #2 (2016).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sanctuaria for getting me off my ass and being my beta for this chapter!! :)

 

**Official Rescue Tally**

 

Something’s wrong.

Bobbi unfurls her legs from beneath her, stretching out on the couch with her finger holding her place in the book, but no- she’s read this sentence five times over and still has no idea what it’s saying. Growling in frustration, she slips a bookmark between the pages and pads over to the kitchen for a drink.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet; she can almost hear their nonexistent clock ticking. As she feels the cool liquid trickle into her gut, she finally recognises the feeling in her stomach and sighs, methodically finishing the drink, washing the glass, and putting it away.

Light fingers on a keyboard, and in a few minutes she has the information she needs. As she pulls up thigh-high fishnets and and shrugs on a long trench over her leather ensemble, she casts a glance at her book and sighs once more.

_ Here we go again. _

* * *

The driver smirks when they arrive at her destination and she merely responds with a withering glare, snapping on a mask before opening the door. She whispers the password into the ear of the man at the ornate entrance, making sure to touch his arm and smile coquettishly. She may not have gotten the pronunciation down pat, but that trick never fails to work.

Once inside, someone takes her coat, and another offers her a drink. She accepts politely, eyes darting around the room taking in all its fixtures- and exits. The other patrons don’t look like criminals, but then when do they ever? But that’s not why she’s here, and really, she can’t be bothered to apprehend a bunch of off-duty crooks when all she wants to do is finish her damned book. 

She wanders around the intricately furnished room, with its gold finishings and plush carpets, maintaining an air of disdain as she discreetly completes another set of procedures and passwords. A masked man in a tight leather outfit appears out of nowhere-  _ damn, how did he manage to do that without me noticing?-  _ and wordlessly leads her toward a nondescript door. A sliding panel reveals a retinal scan, and after it verifies his identity, the man ushers her in and points down the long flight of stairs before shutting it firmly behind her. She hears the locks click in place.  _ Well then. That’s one escape route out. _

Clicking down the steps in spiked heels and entering the main hall, she doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d hoped that he would be in a quiet corner, dark and preferably with few guards, so she could slip them both away with as little fuss as possible. But no, he is Lance Hunter, and he  _ always  _ has to be at the centre of attention.

On a raised platform in the centre of the circular hall and surrounded by throngs of people is her kneeling ex-husband, wrists strapped above him to a wooden pole, dressed in nothing but tight leather boxers and what looks like a leather collar. With a ring, no less. He seems rather chirpy for someone who looks like he’s about to be tortured, and she thinks perhaps she understands the frustration of the woman standing next to him, also in skin-tight leather- the outfit  _ du jour _ , apparently. Sipping her champagne to hide a snort, Bobbi tiptoes in spite of herself to ogle his body. Not that she would ever tell him, but he  _ does  _ look good in those boxers. Her eyes trail lower and fixes on the bulge. Maybe she should get some for him as a birthday present. One of those gifts for him that are really for her, he likes those.

The platform is piled with candles sitting in puddles of their own wax, and while they cast an interesting glow onto the people in the immediate vicinity with their features in flatteringly sharp relief- mental note to get candles for the bedroom- Bobbi can’t help but think this is a serious violation of fire safety regulations. She glances around at the hall, and it’s more like a dungeon than anything else. Actual flaming torches line the wall every few feet, casting an eerie glow around the room.

_ Haven’t these people heard of electric lights? _

Bobbi edges closer, slipping past and between other people in various iterations of ‘Halloween Dominatrix’, some complete with whips and feather batons, and others, for some strange kink she doesn’t understand, in masks of actual animal heads. Her own costume, hidden earlier by her trench, features shoulder spikes. She learnt in a previous mission that they were very useful in creating a bubble of personal space in crowded situations, and she’s particularly glad for that now- tight leather in a stuffy dungeon doesn’t make for the most pleasant of odours.

She reaches the edge of the crowd and takes a much-needed breath when Lance raises his head.  _ Damn, the lights really bring out his cheekbones,  _ she muses, sipping on her drink. And then nearly spitting it out when Lance snarkily asks for a safeword and the woman, presumably and understandably frustrated, tases him with the press of a button. Biting back laughter since everyone else was tsking in disapproval, she studies her ex a little closer. The shock appeared to have been administered through the collar; she will either have to get her hands on the remote or take off the collar somehow.

“This man clearly does not understand what he’s getting into!” The woman brandishes the remote, her frustration evident as she tosses back a lock of hair that had fallen out of its coif. Bobbi smirks. Getting under people’s skin is Hunter’s specialty. “Who here wants to show him the  _ real _ meaning of pain?”

It’s like the stars are aligning for her. Bobbi steps forward, raising her glass, and sees the spark of recognition in Hunter’s eyes. She accepts the remote with a little bow. “All men should come with remotes,” she remarks, exchanging places with the woman with a nod. Hunter is smirking, the bastard, and she toys with the bright red button and bites back a laugh when she sees the smile fade a little.

“I’m going to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off your face!” she declares, voice ricocheting off the walls as she steps close to him. The candlelight bounces off the fine sheen of sweat on his muscular chest, and she really has to resist the urge to trail her finger across...or down... 

“Like what you see?” he murmurs, having clearly noticed her ogling and not bothering to hide his smile.

“Shut up.” 

“I know I like what  _ I  _ see. How come I’ve never seen you in this before?”

She can feel his eyes roving over her body, moving from legs up until they meet her gaze, and she has to suppress a shudder at the look in his eyes. Her chest tingles with longing and anticipation, and suddenly she has another reason for wanting to get them both out of here quickly. 

Leaning close so that he can smell her perfume, she whispers, “Because, sweetcheeks, you never asked.”

Ignoring his sputter of indignation, she makes a show of parading the remote around him, flashing it to the jeering crowd while making use of her vantage point and noting all the exits. There is just one other tiny door apart from the one she entered by. Not good, she doesn't know where it leads, and the stairway can be easily blocked off. She’ll have to knock the heavyweighters out.

“So,” he continues conversationally, as if they aren’t surrounded by weirdos in masks and he isn’t tied up with leather strips in nothing but his underwear, “Why are you here?”

“To rescue you. Shut up.”

“Tase him!” someone calls. “Yeah! What’re you waiting for!”

It’s like he doesn’t hear them. “Does this count in the official rescue tally?”

“Oi! Hurry up already!”

“Of course it counts. What d’ya think, I’m here out of the kindness of my heart?” Scoffs and rolls her eyes. In a more resonant voice, “You need to learn the meaning of  _ respect,  _ of  _ order,  _ of the rules of the Hellfire Club!”

“This means we’re even now, right?”

“What?” she hisses, slightly distracted. She’ll need to cause a diversion. “Not even close.” 

Casting him an apologetic look, her thumb brushes over the button fleetingly, but that’s enough to send a jolt through him, one that he dutifully plays up, jerking and yelling as if in mortal agony. Taking advantage of everyone’s attention being on her ex’s writhing, bucking body- and trying not to think of him writhing and bucking for a different but not wholly unrelated reason- Bobbi leaps off the stage. In several polished kicks, twirls, and well-timed ducks, she knocks out the muscle surrounding the stage.

“Well,” comes a plaintive voice a distance behind her. “I could’ve done that.”

“Sure you could, Sport.”

The heap of black leather sprawled haphazardly around the platform looks like some act of sacrifice gone wrong, which, in a way, it has, and everyone else is cowering and flinching at her every move. Her eyes scan the crowd, and out of the corner of her eye she spots a movement passing through that tiny door she’d seen earlier.

“Over there!” She glances over her shoulder for Hunter, who grunts as he tugs himself free of his restraints, and beckons him to hurry up.

“ _ You _ try hurrying after kneeling for hours… Bad for blood circulation,” she hears him mutter between winces as he jogs after her through the door.

“Oh quit complaining. What are  _ you _ doing here, anyway? I didn’t know you were into cuffs and punishment… You could have just told me,” she adds in a low voice, moving along briskly and trying to look for secret passageways along the corridor.

“What? What? Did you say something?” Startled, he turns his gaze from her butt. She can’t deny she feels a smidgen of satisfaction; she  _ does _ look good in leather, if she does say so herself. “Oh- uh, I came here to infiltrate the club to foil an assassination plot.” He’d clearly not heard the last part. She’s a  _ bit _ disappointed. “The Black Queen- that woman earlier; she’s kind of creepy by the way, worse than you- ow! It’s true! Anyway, she’s plotting to assassinate the Queen.”

“What queen? Isn’t she already the queen? Don’t be ridiculous, Hunter.” They reach a corner and she holds out a hand to his chest to stop him, squinting down the passage before moving on.

“I’m not being ridiculous! She’s trying to kill  _ the  _ Queen, the Queen of England, Elizabeth the Second-”

She shoots him a brief, incredulous glance over her shoulder. “If it were that important, SHIELD would have sent me.”

A brief, petulant silence, then- “Remember that conversation we had about being supportive?”

She can almost feel his scowl burning into her back. Okay, maybe she should stop emasculating him so much. “Sorry.”

Their footsteps echo down the dark, torchlit hallway, and they stop in front of a plain wooden door. Bobbi tries it. It’s locked.

“Stand back,” Hunter steps forward. “I’ll kick it open.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but figures she should probably let him feel at least a little useful and crosses her arms.

“Aim your foot below the lock; it’s the weakest-”

“I know how to kick open a door, Bob!”

She shrugs and raises her hands in surrender, amused at the serious way in which he eyes the door and taking the opportunity to openly ogle the firm curve of his butt. She’s about to compliment him on it when he extends his leg. There’s a loud crash, and the next moment he’s howling, hopping on one foot and clutching the other as if it’s about to fall off.

She snorts.

“Yeah, might’ve worked better with shoes on, Sport.”

She takes a step in and her smirk slides off her face when her eyes adjust to the dark. They’re surrounded by another group of leather-clad goons, this time with the Black Queen in front of them looking triumphant.

Bobbi sighs. “You know, the last time it only took me a minute to beaaaaa-”

* * *

It turns out the remote can be electrified too.

Wincing, Bobbi cracks an eye open and looks to her left, where Hunter has his arms strapped above his head once again, only this time she’s been chained up with him.

“You couldn’t have taken the collar off earlier?” Her throat is dry and scratchy, and she’s just grumpy overall. She  _ hates _ being tased. “What, do I have to do  _ all _ the rescuing today?”

To her annoyance, he doesn’t rise to her bait, instead looks her over in concern. Glaring and making a frustrated sound, she looks around the place. If the dungeon they were in earlier was dismal, this place was downright depressing. Dark, damp walls, with the only sign that they aren’t going to collapse around them the way that the metal brackets don’t budge no matter how much she yanks at them. She could pick them, but with so many people about and no idea where the entrance was in the pitch darkness, there’s no point.

“What is this place, the sewers? Tch!” Bobbi’s scoff echoes off the walls despite Hunter’s desperate shushing. “I didn’t know the mighty Hellfire Club was so hard up they had to use the sewage systems for their gatherings too. If word gets out you have  _ rats _ …”

The click-clack of heeled boots, and then her jaw is pinched between two surprisingly strong fingers. A leather minion holds up a torch of flame behind her captor, the light so blindingly bright in the darkness that Bobbi instinctively tries to jerk away, only to have her face wrenched back violently to face the Black Queen. Beside her, Hunter is uncharacteristically silent.

“Word  _ won’t  _ get out, m’dear.” A pale hand releases her jaw to pat her cheek. “Think you’re so clever, aren’t you? Yet here you are, all chained up with this smart little fellow…” Her attention turns to Hunter and Bobbi’s heart leaps, body jerking instinctively. She just manages to keep her mouth shut so that she won’t betray her vulnerability, but the jangle of chains makes that abundantly clear. The Black Queen’s lips spread in a devious smile, keeping her eyes on Bobbi as she trails a long black nail down his chest to the waistband of those leather boxers.

And then she sighs, shaking her head and stepping away, taking the minion and the flame with her. Bobbi sags with relief internally, looking over to Hunter with soft eyes. Despite her jibes at him, she still l-.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have time to play with you right now. The rats you so disdain will enjoy your presence, I’m sure… And when I am done with my glorious plans for today, I will return and interrogate you. I’m sure I can find the...right  _ motivation. _ ”

Bobbi shakes her head in disbelief when she actually laughs an evil laugh.  _ Am I in a cartoon right now?  _ But being alone is good, it will give them time to think of a plan to-

“Psst.”

She looks over at Hunter, brow raised. 

“I was looking around… Ever noticed how these old places tend to be rather poorly kept?”

Again with the conversationalist tone. “If you have something to say Hunter-”

He cuts her off, making an exaggerated show of sniffing the air. “Smells like my clothes back in college, always half dry…” He looks at her meaningfully, like she’s supposed to understand what that means, and she’s about to snap at him when she sniffs the air and it clicks.

Mildew.

The walls, the floor… They’re all covered in a thin film of liquid.  _ This is why I love him. _ Casting him an impressed smile, she wraps her fingers around the metal cuffs, tugging on the chains to test how they hold up. No give. Hunter sticks his foot in one of the many puddles and moving his arms and making a ruckus. 

“Stop rattling your chains! You’re not ghouls yet!” a shrill voice sounds out of the darkness.

“We just wanted to see if we could have food delivered to us, ma’am!” Hunter calls, voice unerringly and irritatingly polite. “Could we have some food options? I’m vegan, you see, but Bobbi loves meat-” Bobbi snorts at that- “Do you think we could have a half and half pizza?”

“Shut up!” Irate stomping and sloshing as the Black Queen strides back toward them. “Shut up shut up shut up! I can’t think with all your noise, you..!” She waves the remote in front of his face like a trump card, thumb positioned over the big red button. Bobbi watches her finger carefully, poised to react. A wide, maniacal grin- and then Bobbi yanks herself upward, legs curled into her body, weight held by the chain. The next moment, there are soft yelps as the electrified water knocks the Black Queen and her minions out cold. Hunter’s chains clang noisily as his legs give out from the shock.

“Nghhh....”

Bobbi lowers herself back down and picks the lock in seconds with bobby pins from her hair. Rubbing her wrists, she nudges the unconscious woman away from them with the toe of her boot and steps in front of Hunter, pin in hand.

“Hunter? You okay?” She cups his cheek gently, waiting for him to rouse.

“Y-yeah,” he slurs, and she lets out a breath of relief. He struggles a little before standing on both feet properly.

“You know,” she murmurs regretfully, moving closer, lips against his ear, “If it weren’t for this whole assassination plot thing that we needed to foil…” Her palm rests on his delightfully warm chest, and she can feel his pulse spiking beneath her touch. She kisses the corner of his jaw, nipping slightly, and hears the sharp intake of breath as she presses herself against those leather boxers. “We could explore this fetish of yours right here.” 

With a sigh though, she steps away, her body protesting the distance. “Unfortunately, work calls.” She unpicks his cuffs with business-like efficiency, but he seems to be somewhat dazed. Secretly pleased at the effect she has on him, she tugs at his hand. “After we’re done with this, we’ll grab a burrito, okay? And then… And then we can look into this.”

The way his eyes light up makes her face split in a genuine smile.

  
  



	2. Post-Rescue Burritos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bobbi ties up Hunter and his burrito and teases him for a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure smut. You have been warned.

**Post-Rescue Burritos**

 

Bobbi leans back against the arm of her couch, finishing the last of her burrito, legs stretched out over Hunter’s thigh. Clean and comfortable in sweats and a shirt, she can’t help but be thankful that at least _part_ of her day off is going somewhat nicely, especially with Hunter massaging her feet like that. When his hand stills, she looks over with a raised brow.

“What?”

His forehead is furrowed, and she’ll never admit it, but he looks adorable when he’s trying to work something out in his head.

“I never told you where I was. Did SHIELD contact you for extraction? I thought it was a solo mission, no back-up…”

She snorts and draws her legs back, sitting up and leaning forward to thumb a bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth. Sucking on the finger, she smirks as he follows her gaze and swallows hard.

“I told you I can sense when you’re in trouble, Sport.” Her voice is low, husky, and she can see his pupils dilate in anticipation. “Did you think I was joking about that?” She moves forward again, lips hovering over the corner of his mouth and gently kissing off the last remains of sauce. “As for your location… You really need a better password for your VISA.”

Her hand trails down his bare chest, admiring the planes and angles of his body, and comes to a rest just above the waistband of his grey sweats. She does like him in these… Her hand grazes over the tented front, relishing the soft material, and Hunter sucks in a strangled breath.

“I feel like I'm in trouble now,” he whispers, a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t we… Don’t we have to wait an hour?” His hand snakes around her waist, pulling her closer even as she speaks.

“We _could,_ ” she muses, lifting a leg to straddle him. Letting out a long, soft sigh as she settles, her hips rock over him gently. “ _Or,_ we could explore that fetish of yours.”

She hasn’t even finished speaking when he cups her butt, pressing her flush to his already attentive member as he stands, the rest of his burrito forgotten. Bobbi smirks, wrapping long legs around his hips as he walks them to their bedroom. Arms slung around his neck, the heel of her foot nudges the waist of his sweats.

“Get undressed Sport.” She sets her feet on the ground nimbly once in the bedroom, bending to draw something up from a bag by the bed. “I went back to the dungeon while you were finishing up with the agents.” A pair of leather cuffs dangle from her fingers, and she grins at the look on his face before throwing him the leather boxers she’d finagled as well. “Two minutes.”

* * *

 

One minute, twenty-eight seconds later, she clicks the lock on the collar around his neck and checks that the straps have been fastened securely to the bed frame. Standing back, collapsible baton with feathered tip in hand, she tilts her head and admired her handiwork.

“I rather like you like that,” she hums, tapping her chin with the feather.

“What? Tied up? At your mercy?” he grumbles, but is clearly not unhappy with the situation.

“Something like that.”

She struts around the bed, mostly parading for his enjoyment, making sure he can see every curve and swell in the tight leather and peekaboo fishnets. He groans, pulling against the bed frame, and she spins on her heel, eyes narrowing as she points the baton at him.

“Did I say you could move, Hunter?”

“No, but I-” He catches the look that says they're already getting started, and his eyes twinkle in excitement before dropping down. Voice meek, he shakes his head. “No.”

“No, _mistress_.” She drags the feather across his abdomen, voice threatening, and sees him shudder in pleasure.

“No, mistress,” he parrots obediently, biting down on his lips to stop a moan.

The sight of his restraint and those plush lips send a jolt of heat shooting to her crotch, and Bobbi leans down, thumb brushing his lower lip as she'd done earlier. “Uh uh. Those lips, those teeth- all for me. Understood?”

A whine in the back of his throat, and then fervent nods. “Yes. Yes mistress.”

“Good,” she purrs, sitting on the edge of the bed by his hip and trailing the feathered tip down the line of his nose. He twitches at the tickle, squirming, and she pinches his side. Oh, the firm muscle beneath the skin… Hunter mumbles an apology for moving and she continues the tease downward, leaning close to him when it brushes his lips, her hair curtaining them on one side as she hovers a hair’s breadth above him.

“Bobbi,” he whispers pleadingly, and there’s a slight edge of desperation in his voice that sends a thrill through her.

“Not yet.” But unable to help herself, she leans in for the kiss, intending for it to be a quick brush of lips before she moves on downward. She should have known better; Hunter has always been a consummate kisser. Warm lips pliant beneath hers, he returns the soft kiss with such fervour that she just can’t pull herself away. Before she realises it, she’s straddling him, baton forgotten, gasping at the give and take of the kiss that’s always been one of her favourite things about him. A gentle sucking on her bottom lip and her lips part to admit his tongue, which at once teases and tangles itself with hers. Her hands come up to cup his face, his stubble scratchy beneath her palms.

“Hunter…” she moans quietly, pulling away just enough to nuzzle noses. “This wasn’t the plan.”

His eyes, half-lidded and so dark she can barely see the browns that she loves to drown in, search her face, and he shakes his head almost imperceptibly. “Screw the plan,” he breathes, and she feels his body wriggle beneath hers in a desperate attempt to feel more of her. “Who says we…” He swallows a whine as her hand trails down his neck over his Adam’s apple. “Who says we have to follow a plan?”

“I do.” She leans up, back stretching, making sure to brush the tips of her leather-covered breasts over his cheek as she kisses the pulse point of each wrist before giving him a devious smile and sliding further down on his body. Her butt wriggles along his bare abdomen, the fishnets creating a friction that makes him buck and grit his teeth.

“Bobbi…” he growls warningly.

“ _Mistress,_ ” she corrects, stopping with her bottom pressed against his tip. She moves a little southward, holding back a soft moan as she rubs herself over the hardened head. Hunter however, curses like a sailor.

“Bob, _please-_ ”

“Careful, soldier,” she drags out her syllables lazily. “Or I’ll leave you here all tied up.”

That shuts him up quickly, because he knows for a fact that she’s not above doing that.

Smirking, she rocks on the tip a couple more times, hands caressing his muscled abs and feeling his skin bead with sweat from resisting the urge to move. She feels her blood quicken, a shudder running through her body, and with some force of effort, she stops and slides down his shaft to straddle his thighs instead. Hunter lets out his breath in a long whoosh, staring up at the ceiling and taking deep, measured breaths. She has to play it right, she thinks, thumbs rubbing circles along his inner thigh, closer and closer to the bulge in those boxers. Can’t push him too much, otherwise they’re both going to wind up unsatisfied tonight.

Her fingers hook in the waistband of those boxers, tugging down until he springs free with a groan.

“Somebody’s excited,” she remarks, her casual tone belying her own need. Moving to kneel between his legs, her finger swipes across the cleft, spreading the pearly-white liquid over the head. Hunter bucks and tenses, at once trying to get more and trying to squirm away from her touch.

“Bob- _Mistress-_ please-”

She makes sure he’s watching as she draws a thumb covered in the liquid across her lips and licks it clean, then slowly lowers her head down over him. She takes him in, licking the heated, delicate skin, until he reaches the back of her throat. The thought about spies having to control their gag reflex as part of training comes to mind as it always does, and then she stops thinking when Hunter tenses and shudders in her mouth. His tremors shoot right to her core and she fists the sheets to dispel the pressure. She doesn’t need his gasps to tell her that she can’t go on in this vein, not tonight; she doesn’t think she can hold on for much longer, either.

With trembling thighs, she bobs her head once, twice, as a perfunctory measure, and pulls back up with a soft _pop_ to see her ex-husband almost wild-eyed. His fingers are grabbing tight onto the leather cuffs as he tries to stop himself from shooting off right there and then, and for a fleeting moment she feels almost guilty for putting him through this.

Then a _zrrrrrrrppp_ down her side _,_ and she’s shoving the leather sleeves off and trying to peel the fabric off her sweaty skin- dammit, this is the last time she’s getting an outfit this difficult to get out of- and is bending over to peel down her fishnet stockings when there’s a grunt from the bed. Bobbi looks up to find Hunter watching with an expression that looks like he’s about to devour her.

“Keep them on,” he breathes, voice a growl, and while a few minutes ago she would have chastised him for speaking out of turn, now her knees grow weak and she kicks off her heels, clambering over him and crushing her lips to his again. Her hands roam all over his body, fondling and scratching and caressing, and his skin feels like it’s heating up under her touch. The bed creaks as Hunter desperately tries to touch her, and Bobbi straightens slightly, throwing her head back in laughter.

“Uh uh, Sport. You wanted a fetish, you got a fetish.”

Ignoring his whimper of protest, she tries her best to slow things down. She sits back on her heels and straddles him once more, cupping her bare breasts and feeling their silky weight in her palms. Her thumbs brush over the rosy tips, feather-light, but the soft touch makes her shudder with goosepimples. Hunter moans something about torture, but she ignores him. Head thrown back, Bobbi arches, teasing the buds to a peak. Thighs tightening around his sides, she reaches between them to wrap her fingers around his heated length, unable- and unwilling- to continue the teasing much further.

She brushes the swollen tip against her already-slick entrance, coating it thoroughly, and in a few seconds she’s breathing as hard as he is, arm shaking as she balances herself on his chest.

“Hunter.” His name the smallest whisper on her lips, and then her breath catches as she guides him in smoothly, gaze locked onto his as she feels him stretch and fill her. She lets out a small whine at the back of her throat when he’s seated to the hilt, and they stay motionless for a long moment, relishing their joining and focusing on every sensation between them.

She feels him pulsing within her, sees how his muscles are straining with the need to move, and strokes a hand down his bare chest. Taking that as her permission, Hunter grunts and jerks his hips, letting out a loud moan. Absurdly, Bobbi swallows the sudden urge to laugh- _he’s always so_ loud. But then he finds his footing and leverage to thrust, and she’s the one who can’t hold back her cries. Muscles quivering, their hips rock with each other, but as quickly as they fall into the rhythm that seems to come second nature to them, they start to spiral out of control. He pumps frantically into her, her name a litany on his lips, and she grinds down, fingers digging into his flesh as she fights for a semblance of control. His name is intertwined with strings of curses as she feels herself reaching an impossible cliff, and then she hears his breath hitch and his pace quicken abruptly. Panting harshly, her hand slides between them to drum on her nub, and then everything erupts in a cascade of blinding ecstasy.

Bobbi rocks out the last of her climax on trembling arms, then collapses in a boneless heap beside her ex, her flushed face pressed against his strong shoulder. Wordlessly, she kisses his skin, licking her lips at the salty tinge and tangling their legs together. To her surprise, a large hand tucks the sweaty locks behind her ear before cupping her face, drawing her up for a messy kiss. When they break apart, her fingers lacing with his over her cheek, she shakes her head, lips curved in disbelief.

“You can slip out of the straps?”

He laughs softly through his nose, eyes filled with tenderness as they trace her features.

“Told you I didn’t need rescuing, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written in a long time, so hope you guys liked this! This upload is a double feature and there's a follow-up to this chapter, but the next one is pure smut. ...You have been warned. ;)


End file.
